


Interrogation Room

by ohmyvalar



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Victim Tries and Fails to Remain Stoic, Victim used until limp and exhausted, Victim's Involuntary Arousal Is Mocked By Rapist, Victim(s) Mocked for Crying, brief descriptions of non-sexual torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 14:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21477694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyvalar/pseuds/ohmyvalar
Summary: The hero of the City finds himself at the mercy of the Interrogators.-The hero was biting down hard; hard enough that a bead of blood was welling up between the pearly white of his teeth and his red lips. A defiant fire lit his blue eyes with undying determination.“Fuck. Off.” He spat out from between gritted teeth.S’s smile widened impossibly. “Oh, I justlovethe ones who fight back.”
Relationships: Interrogators/Enemy Hero Prisoner
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	1. Interrogation Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vandoorne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandoorne/gifts).

> hi, i couldn't fit some of ur requests in, but hope you can enjoy this nevertheless!!

Interrogator #8329340S - S for shorthand - sauntered down the grey corridors of Solitary, whistling as he went. 

The cheery sound drew the attention of the inmates. As he strode on by, they threw themselves against the bars; a rattling orchestral accompaniment to his procession. Their screams and shouts only elicited a widening smile from Interrogator S as he continued past them.

At the end of the hallway the rest of his Interrogation team awaited.

There was long-haired Interrogator Q, filming equipment tucked under an arm. Stoic Interrogator U, who was in charge of their _other_ tools. The ever-composed Interrogator A leaned against the grey walls, looking bored. And, of course, Interrogator D - the head of their team. 

“You’re late.” D reprimanded curtly. 

S smiled, sketching a mocking salute. “Sorry, boss man.”

D grunted in reply. “We’ve wasted enough time waiting.” He stood, holding his access card against the scanner of the cell they had been assigned to today. 

The others rose and followed as the door swung open. 

D led the way into the dark cell. His broad-chested frame blocked out the dark recesses within as they walked. 

The last cell along the corridor in Solitary was infamous for holding the most important prisoner in the facility at any point in time. It was fortified by state-of-the-art technology that surpassed even the top-notch security the rest of the cells were already guarded by.

For a month now, that prisoner had been Clarke Gray- hero of the City, poster boy for its air force, and the golden apple of every Resistance eye. His capture had been a great morale boost to the Interrogators’ side - and the only thing that had kept the hero relatively unharmed, so deep in enemy territory. They were saving him for something big. Whatever they did to him, whatever they could make him _do_ \- it would send a much more effective message than a hundred bomb strikes.

S didn’t care much about all that; his superiors could worry about politics and the bigger picture all they wanted. The _finer details_ were what the Interrogator was interested in. After all, that was the Devil’s domain, wasn’t it?

And finally, finally - today was the day the Interrogators had been sent to work their magic on this most special prisoner. 

D led the team into a small enclosure deep within the cell. 

It was dark here, with only the sound of a pump clicking echoing through the space. 

“You reckon he’s dead by now? Can’t have been fun to be in here all _alone_ in the darkness for a whole month.” S pondered.

“Of course not. Our job requires us to be sent here _before_, not _after_ death occurs.” A declared superciliously. 

U shifted in the darkness. “I hear his breathing.” He muttered. “He’s weak, but alive.” 

The abrupt flash of light as the cell lit up alerted them out of their bantering. They each straightened, eyes sweeping back to the entrance and across the room, looking out for any trace of an intruder. 

But it was only Q, soundlessly standing by the circuitry panel. Rolling his eyes, he picked his camera and tripod stand back up. 

D cleared his throat. “Everyone, get to work…” 

S tuned out the rest of his orders. _Establish position and angles for maximum intimidation…_ Yada yada. D was a stickler for sanctimonious rules, but everyone knew their team worked best when they were spontaneously applying their various… _talents._

Q got his kicks from setting up his cameras, U lovingly unwrapped his torture kit, A used big words and theories from dead old men to fuck with minds and D issued orders to establish he was the biggest guy in the room. 

As for S? Well, S preferred the _heart-to-heart_ approach. 

The swashbuckling Interrogator strode right up to the prisoner. 

The unconscious prisoner was chained up to the wall by his wrists and ankles, with the small mercy of his bonds being long enough for his feet to touch the ground - probably an unfortunate side effect of ensuring he didn’t die from torn muscles before an example could be made of him. 

He was naked, save for the tangled mess of tubes attached to his arms which disappeared into the wall on their other ends. Some were IV drips necessary to ensure his survival, while others were trackers which monitored his vitals. S noticed D’s eyes linger on his catheter. _Predictable_. He could work with that.

S stepped back momentarily, surveying the scene once more. One-on-one intimidation was always fun, but he was working with a team… That and he didn’t like to get his hands dirty for warmups. 

Q had his equipment set up; a camera and a director’s chair, complete with a deadcat microphone he’d shifted over to the prisoner - near enough to capture any fun sounds, but far away enough to avoid damage to his precious kit. 

U was carefully unwrapping his tools, before meticulously laying them out on a white sheet. The instruments glinted under the light with well-honed sharpness. 

A was taking his turn with examining the prisoner. Between ambiguous “hmm”-ing sounds, he propped his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. 

D stood with his arms folded in the center of the cell, overseeing it all. 

“Nervous, boss man?” S smiled, sidling over to the team leader. 

The glare D cast him was full of warning. “Focus on the job, S. I don’t have time for your bullshit today.”

Feigning hurt, the subordinate Interrogator slid ever closer. He whispered into D’s ear: “That wasn’t what I heard you saying last night…” He could feel his team leader’s body tense against him. _Delicious._

The sound of A’s clear voice cut through the moment. “He’s awake!”

Somewhere in the midst of their set-up, the prisoner must have regained consciousness. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, S broke away from D and strode over to stand beside A. 

The prisoner had indeed opened his eyes. Those famously striking blue eyes opened and closed slowly, drawing attention to his thick eyelashes. The irises themselves were unnaturally dilated; that was probably a side effect of sedation, though. He appeared disoriented. 

"What's the story, morning glory?" S asked cheerfully, ignoring the disgusted look A gave him. 

Whatever else there was to ridicule about the prisoner, it had to be said that he was quick on his reflexes. Shutting his eyes tightly one last time, he then flicked them open and stared straight into S’s eyes. 

A sound like muted thunder rumbled in Clarke Gray’s throat. Perhaps at the hero’s full strength it might have sounded threatening - but in his current state it was nothing more than a kitten’s purr. _Cute._

S smiled wide. He slapped a hand against the juncture where the hero’s shoulders met his neck, gradually applying increasing force as he squeezed. His body felt warm, despite the cool conditions of the cell and his nudity. Beside him, A watched with potent interest as tension rippled across Clarke’s face. 

The Interrogators waited until the prisoner’s stubborn silence turned into breathless gasps for air. As A gave the signal, S released his hold. He instantly missed the heat of the prisoner’s flesh - but it couldn’t be helped. When left to his own timing S had often ended the game way too early. 

A moment passed between Interrogators and prisoner. They watched as Clarke lowered his head, attempting to compose himself in stolen privacy. But there was no hiding from them, not in this place. _Good footage, that._ Q’s overhead camera moved to capture the moment up close, before swinging up above once more. 

“Who are you?” The hero finally rasped. S wondered if that honeyed voice they always heard over broadcasts had deteriorated from a month of disuse, and if his little play had had a part to play in it. That last bit sent a pleasant tingle down his spine. 

“No, no - Now, listen here - you don’t need to worry about any of _our_ names. The only important name in this story,” The Interrogator peered into the main camera, before gesturing back to the prisoner like a talk show host introducing his guest star, “is _you,_ Clarke!”

Clarke seemed to tense as he registered the presence of the cameras. 

“I appreciate the additional intelligence in the room,” A commented wryly. “I shall inform the rest that we are ready to proceed.”

S smiled down at the prisoner. They were alone now, at least for the moment. These were always his favorite part of any session. “Come here.” He swung an amiable arm around Clarke, ignoring the way the hero flinched under the contact and his full weight. 

“Between you and me?” S pointed back at each of his teammates. “U’s only in this for the traditional part - bamboo sticks under nails, branding with burning pokers; I’m sure you’re familiar with the like. A loves talking people to death - but people who end up here rarely die from just _talking_. Oh, Q probably gets off on the snuff tapes our work usually ends up becoming - it’s hard to tell when he hides behind the cameras all the time. And D’s just your regular homophobic dickbag who can’t quite seem to graduate from homoerotic torture tactics - but hey, _I’m_ not complaining.” 

“But me and you? We both know that it takes a little _combination_ of them _all_ to really _get_ to somebody.”

He grinned at Clarke. They were of a height, but with the hero’s emancipated condition S had no problem asserting himself over the other man.

“So? You ready to put on a good show for us?”

Clarke turned away from him with resolute disgust. “Do what you will.” He spat out. “But don’t expect me to submit to your twisted ideals.” With that, he looked up and stared defiantly into the hovering camera. 

Q gave an appreciative whistle from behind his director’s set-up. Relinquishing his hold on Clarke with a pat on the prisoner’s shoulder, S turned to give the cameraman a thumbs up. 

“S, get back here. You go first, U.” D commanded from somewhere behind them. 

Bored with his team leader’s usual gruff maneuvering, S sauntered over to Q’s side for a better angle to watch the upcoming opening act. 

The cameraman barely spared him a glance before returning to concentrate on his set-up. S took his silence as consent and propped himself up against the nearby wall, whistling to himself while he waited. 

As ordered, U strode over to the prisoner with heavy, purposeful footsteps. The hovering camera panned a shot over his unveiled torture kit. Through the camera, S watched as Clarke’s entire body tensed and stood upright as U halted before him.

The prisoner’s reactions as U began his work made it clear that this was indeed not his first rodeo with torture. 

U wasn’t really the creative type, so S focused his attention on Clarke’s reactions instead. They were minute, really, and more involuntary bodily betrayals than anything A could take credit for - but the camera close-ups left nothing to privacy. 

Flagellation, punching, electroshock; the usual drill. S watched intently; the way red welts striped across the prisoner's tanned skin, the way his abs - impressive after a month chained up to a wall - grew more defined as he sucked in pained breaths. He threw a sideways glance at Q, who had his eyes glued to the screen as his breathing grew heavier. The creep was _definitely_ getting off on this. 

But so was S - although he suspected in a rather different way than voyeurism - so who was he to judge? 

After what must have been an eternity for the prisoner - but really seemed rather a few enjoyable seconds to the Interrogators - U finally removed the electrodes clipped to him. 

As Clarke slumped in his chains, reeling from the last particularly high-current electric shock, U packed up his tools quietly and made his way back to D’s side. No taunting, no outward signs of satisfaction. But when S caught his eye he saw the private pride in those cold irises. 

Next, A stepped in for some good old mind fucking. S cared for it far less than he did the more… physical method - and so he was content to remain by Q’s side, watching through the cameras as A calmly whispered horrible things into Clarke’s ear. The deadcat wasn’t fine-tuned enough to pick up his words - _trade secrets,_ the psychologist called them - but it was more than enough to hear the hero try and fail to steady his breathing.

Through the hovering camera, S saw Clarke’s jaw lock and twitch almost agonizingly as A delivered a particularly hard-hitting zinger.

_Well, well._ S’s veins positively sizzled with anticipation to break the prisoner down even more. 

He couldn’t wait any longer. _Screw D’s rules and procedures._ The Interrogator blew the team leader a kiss with his middle finger when he saw D open his mouth in a shout. 

“Get back here, S!”

S ignored him for the moment. Coming up beside A, he watched with satisfaction as Clarke’s attention switched to focus on him instead.

“...” Noticing his intrusion, A pulled back from the prisoner and glared at him. “What are you doing here now? Wait your turn.”

“Now, now. U had his time. Now _you’ve_ had your time. I reckon it’s time for a shift change, huh?” S caught him about the shoulders, squeezing hard to get his point across. “You know D always goes last - taking the credit and all. So that means it’s my turn now, no?”

A opened his mouth to argue, but S forcibly shifted him around so he could see the rest of their team. D still looked disapproving, but none of them were making a move to intervene. 

Of course not. They were a ragtag bunch of fucked-up psychopaths brought together for the sole purpose of interrogation. Even within the team, the strong ate the weak. There was no place for loyalty nor sympathy here. 

Throwing S a poisonous glare which promised vengeance, A shook free of him and stalked back to the rest of their team.

Satisfied, S turned back to Clarke. “Well then. We’re alone again. Aren’t you glad?”

The hero raised his head to hold his gaze, steady to the bone. 

They had done a beautiful job on him. The slashes, which painted his arms, chest and legs, were starting to darken and clot. They would leave magnificent scars for a while yet. That poster boy-face was bruised in a most becoming way. When S grasped it in his hands, Clarke shuddered. 

“Oh?” Sensing blood like a shark in water, the Interrogator leaned in closer. 

If the hero’s skin had felt warm before, it was feverishly hot now. S pressed a finger into a still-bleeding bruise over Clarke’s cheek. The hero’s eyes flickered shut, eyelids twitching in turmoil his face refused to show. 

_Cute._

“I think it’s time for something more… _intimate,_ don’t you agree?” S gestured dramatically to his teammates, before shaking a finger in Clarke’s face. “Oh no, not you. You don’t get much of a choice in this, I’m afraid.”

S placed an open palm against Clarke’s heaving chest, and let it snake down his torso slowly. He savored the way the hero’s breaths grew shorter and his body tried to twist away from the unwelcome contact. 

Clarke wasn’t holding his gaze now. Mildly curious, S twisted his head back until they were staring at each other once again. 

The hero was biting down hard; hard enough that a bead of blood was welling up between the pearly white of his teeth and his red lips. A defiant fire lit his blue eyes with undying determination. 

“Fuck. Off.” He spat out from between gritted teeth. 

S’s smile widened impossibly. “Oh, I just _love_ the ones who fight back.”

Lunging forward suddenly, he caught Clarke’s bleeding lip in his own teeth. With his free hand he slammed their mouths together. 

“Urhk!” 

S could feel the hero’s revulsion from the way his body flinched away. He snaked his tongue into Clarke’s mouth, tasting the metallic tang of more blood. 

The hero held still in trembling tension. Waiting. Enduring. 

Finally, when he had had his fill for the moment, S drew back. The Interrogator made a show of licking his lips in satisfaction - and watched as a mixture of disgust and shame flickered over Clarke’s face. _Interesting._

The hero spat in front of his feet the first chance he had, rubbing his lips roughly together as if to get the taste of his assaulter out. He was back to resolutely not looking at the Interrogator again. 

S smiled. Things were proceeding nicely. He reckoned they were ready for the next act in this play. 

“U, mind lending a hand?” S called back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw U look to D for permission first. It was only when the team leader nodded tersely that the torturer lumbered over. 

S gestured towards the chains holding the prisoner up. U glanced at him, but kept his comments to himself. The sound of his footsteps disappeared off to the side as he went to unchain the hero’s wrists. 

The moment the chains fell away from the wall, Clarke’s legs shook. Used to their support, he had grown weak - weak enough for S to grab him by the hair and shove him to the ground. 

The chains clattered in a mess around Clarke’s knees. The prisoner barely had the time to glare up at the Interrogator - much less muster up the strength for an attack - before his face was being grinded into S’s crotch.

“Mmpfh!” The hero immediately struggled to get away, realizing upon contact the extent of the Interrogator’s depravity. S was already half-hard from all the foreplay so far. 

“Oh yes, do you feel that?” He paused, firmly holding Clarke in place. All that panting and friction against his cock really was… _stimulating_. But the fun had barely started. “And who could blame me? I have the City’s golden boy on his knees for me after all…” 

“Wouldn’t you agree, dearest team leader?” S wrenched his hand in the hero’s hair, forcing them to look back at D together.

The team leader was breathing hard, a steely hardness in his eyes. S knew that look. 

Oh, _boy_ did he know and love that look… It wouldn’t take much more pushing now. 

True to S’s prediction, D began striding over to them. U, on the other hand, had gone back to the far end of the cell, his job done. Q was intent as always in his director’s chair. A was leaning against the wall, looking bored once again. 

This next part wasn’t for them. It was for S, D and their lucky prisoner of the day _alone_. 

S smiled wide at his team leader as he came up to them. “Glad you could join us, D.” Tightening his fingers in the hero’s hair, he cocked his head at D. “So? You wanna take his front or back first?”

His team leader scowled, even as he couldn’t quite keep his hands to himself. A flash of conflicted guilt split his rugged face. 

Not guilt at what he was about to do, of course. S laughed softly. That would have been ridiculous. They were in the wrong line of business for guilt over exacting harm on others.

Guilt about his own _temptations,_ however… 

Abruptly, S pulled the prisoner forward by his arms. Losing his balance, Clarke stumbled and fell, involuntarily, onto his elbows and knees. His hands sought purchase in S’s pockets. Once he was right where S wanted him, the Interrogator stepped down on his hand with a boot, preventing him from sitting up again. A sharp cry of pain escaped the hero before he could stifle it. 

“Now this is a better position,” the Interrogator smiled. “I’ve made everything a great deal more convenient for you, I reckon. You won’t go against your own nature now, will you?”

_Ah._ S watched as D’s expression tightened. That might have been the wrong thing to say. 

But then the team leader’s hand, stuttering as if possessed, came to rest across the expanse of the prisoner’s exposed back. Clarke stiffened under D’s roaming hand. As his eyes were drawn to the scene, S saw that the criss-cross of whipmarks across his back were already fading as if months had elapsed. 

_Oh?_

“Let’s test a little theory of mine out…” S murmured.

Locking eyes with his team leader, the Interrogator lifted Clarke by the hair and delivered a swift, sharp slap across his face.

The sound of the smack echoed in the cell. S sure hoped Q’s cameras had caught that shot. Those widening blue eyes unable to mask his shock, the defiant way he grit his teeth against the sudden pain, the blossoming of a mark across his cheek; quite a masterpiece; if S could say so himself. 

Now that S was watching intently, he could see that the bruise was lightening and disappearing within seconds. 

“So the rumors about accelerated healing were true,” the Interrogator realized. “Amazing! Isn’t this exciting, D? You don’t have to worry about your dick breaking _this_ one, no matter how _hard_ you go at it…”

A snarl from the hero brought S’s attention back to him. “Don’t think… That you’re going to get away with this…” 

S set a heavy hand onto Clarke’s head. “Oh, don’t get lonely now. The fun part’s just about to begin, I promise…” Out of the corner of the eye, he observed with amusement as D finally gave into the desires he had convinced himself to be unnatural. 

The team leader had his pants unbuttoned, and was in the process of drawing out his engorged cock. Wow, what a pervert. It seemed that their interaction had already gotten him all ready to go. S sighed. He doubted he would ever get tired of the sight of D caving in to their shared desire.

The feeling of someone’s erection rubbing up against his exposed hole sent the kneeling hero into a full body struggle. But there was nowhere to go; the more Clarke shied away from D, the closer he came to a faceful of S’s bulge - and vice versa. 

Still, the stubbornly persisting movement made it take a few more tries until D’s dick finally slid into place. 

“No - Unghh! _Ah!”_

S could tell the exact moment when it happened - Clarke’s entire body seized up and trembled as D pushed in mercilessly deep without giving him a chance to get used to the intrusion. There was no getting _used_ to it, of course. S knew from pleasant personal experience just how big and thick D was; and how he was inclined to be as rough as he could be to men. 

Breathlessly, the Interrogator wrenched the hero’s face up.

Clarke’s face was raptured in an expression somewhere between pain and horror. His eyes were squeezed shut, leaving his long eyelashes to fan out over his cheeks, wet with sweat. His red lips were still moving in vain, wordlessly shaping the words: _No, no, no…_

Unable to hold back any longer, S unzipped his own pants to released his arousal. 

“If you bite I’ll blow your brains out right here for the camera to see. It’ll be a vivid sight for your future audiences back in the City, I promise.”

Whether it was because he thought a quick death would be more traumatizing than drawn-out torture, or because he just didn’t want to die - equally interesting options, both - Clarke kept his glare down. S could feel his defiant gaze burning a hole into him. _Hot._

The heat of Clarke’s mouth around his length was - dare he say it - _divine_. What he lacked in enthusiasm, he made up for in skill that was evident even in his unwillingness. S let him believe he would leave him to his own arrhythmic pace before abruptly twisting a hand in his hair and thrusting in to the hilt. 

Clarke choked. The muscles in his throat convulsed around S’s cock, an involuntary reaction. 

“Such - a - _fucking_ \- slut, aren’t you?” S breathed out, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. “To think - you were - putting up such a long - fight… Playing the honorable, _straight-laced_ hero...” 

He bent down to whisper: “I bet you’ve been waiting for this all month long, huh?”

The hero made a strangled noise in the back of his abused throat. It might have been another useless “no”, or a plea for help; it might have been any number of things. 

But nothing intelligible was going to come out as long with S’s cock plugging his throat. The vibrations the sounds made only served the Interrogator with another wave of pleasure. 

S laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

D had started thrusting in tandem to S’s own movements. It felt incredible; the hero’s body pushed back and forth by their hips, a helpless vessel for their pleasure and a proxy for their indirect union. 

S refrained from looking at his team leader for the moment. He didn’t want this to end prematurely; there was work to be done after all. 

“Have you noticed those cameras around you? You have, haven’t you?” S answered for him, as he continued to use Clarke’s mouth. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“They aren’t live yet, of course. Streaming is _so_ unpredictable - wouldn’t want any secrets to be leaked, any positions to be leaked just for a moment of fun…” He paused, savoring the panicked hitch to the sounds Clarke was making. “And edited footage is always _way_ more effective, anyway. See Q over there? Oh, right, you can’t - you’re busy. Sorry about that, and thank you kindly, by the way -”

“Shut up, S!” When the Interrogator snuck a glance across, he saw that D was frowning. 

S shrugged it off. The adrenaline high from spitroasting the golden boy of the City with D was making him bold. “Relax, D - I’m just keeping this professional, alright? One of us has got to. Anyway, as I was saying -” he continued, putting on a mock-serious tone for Clarke. “- Q over there reviews the footage, and then sends it over to command. Once they vet it - and believe me, they’ll vet it _thoroughly_ \- off it goes in an encrypted file to your dear City!”

“I heard you got a girl back in the City.” S continued conversationally. _“Had,_ that is. Can’t imagine she’ll take you back for the… _damaged goods_ you are now.”

The Interrogator thought he had a peculiar noise above the routine slap of flesh on flesh at that. Reaching down, he raised Clarke’s head without pulling out. “Are you…?”

The hero _was_ crying. His sobs were caught in his throat, but tears were sliding down his bloodied cheeks. Whether it was a biological reaction from the pounding he was taking, or something more psychological - S didn’t much care to differentiate, and he sure as hell would be taking full credit for this. 

More importantly, the sight and sound of it sent a bolt of lust running through S’s already inflamed veins. 

“There’s - _hah_ \- really no need to be _shy,_ now!” S laughed, accelerating his thrusts. He shot a glance over his shoulder at the rest of their team. “Look, you’ve already got a live audience here!” 

That was a lie. U was looking away from the scene; he didn’t approve of this “indirect” method. A was looking through them more than at them. Q’s face was obscured by his set-up, although he was the only one who might be enjoying this, the voyeuristic bastard. 

But Clarke didn’t need to know that. A closer look at his face made it clear that the remark had doubled the hero’s anguish. 

_Shit._ S was close already. 

“Oh, yes. They’re watching now, and they’re all going to watch later: your friends and family back in the City. And when they do they’re all going to wish they were in our places -”

“- doing _this_ to you.”

With a thrust that lodged him deep down Clarke’s throat one last time, S came. 

Satisfied, he pulled out and tucked himself back in. The Interrogator sat back to watch the show that was still ongoing before him. 

Without support from the front, Clarke slumped to the ground. S watched in fascination as residual drool and the come he couldn’t swallow trailed down onto the ground. The hero made an attempt in vain to stifle his moans with his hands, before letting them fall to his sides uselessly.

Behind him, D was still pounding away, far from being satisfied. He’d always had beastly stamina. As S circled around to watch, he noticed that D was giving the hero a good old reach-around - and to his delight, that Clarke was hard, even with the catheter still in him. 

“Oh, my,” S murmured, voice gone soft and satisfied in his afterglow. “Are you actually _getting off_ on this?”

Clarke made a desperate sound of denial that didn’t quite make it out of his abused throat. He dug his knees into the ground, using all his remaining strength to stop himself from collapsing under D’s brutal pounding.

A laugh escaped S’s mouth, covered in mock-surprise. “You _are,_ aren’t you?”

The Interrogator circled around to stand beside D. He cast a sly glance up at his team leader before joining a hand to where D was gripping the hero’s hips. D scowled down at him, but didn’t spare him any energy to shake him off. He was truly consumed by his lust now, S could tell. 

“I do understand,” S continued in mock-sympathy. “He’s _really_ big and strong, isn’t he. And thick where it matters too. He’ll just keep going, no matter what you do, you know?” He could feel Clarke’s flank trembling with effort under their joint hands.

“But to get off on… What would you call this? Certainly nothing you’re doing out of your free will, are you? _That’s_ another level of depravity.” The Interrogator walked over and leant to whisper into his ear once more: “You’re never going to be able to go back to normal sex after this. Even if you do manage to beg some other big, strong hero to fuck you, you’ll never be able to forget who did this to you _first,_ will you?”

Reaching down, S pulled his catheter out in one rough motion. 

Clarke _screamed_ through his orgasm. 

When it was done, with the hero slumped to the ground in a puddle of his own spend, D continued fucking him through his post-high hypersensitivity to completion. Pulling out, the team leader slapped Clarke on the ass one last time before stepping away to rejoin the rest of the team, composed facade once more in place. S laughed - it was truly a move only D could do, this mixture of self-disgust and outward contempt.

The remaining Interrogator squatted down to lift the hero’s face up. Clarke’s blue eyes were watery and glassy. “Hey, Q. Better catch this finishing shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stop at chapter 1 for the bad ending -> proceed to chapter 2 for a more hopeful one!


	2. Epilogue

Long after the Interrogators left the cell with the door clanging ominously shut, the hero finally gathered himself. 

They had been careless - as he had hoped they would be, after seeing him pretend to be so broken at their hands. The chains on his ankles had remained secure, but those on his wrists hadn’t been reattached properly to the walls. 

With all of his remaining strength, Clarke yanked the chains from the wall. On the third try they came loose, clattering loudly against the floor. The exhausted prisoner collapsed to the ground with bated breath.

His heart hammered in his chest. _Nothing_. No, this cell was sound-proof, he knew that much. Paranoia wouldn’t do him much good now. He had to muster his courage and believe in himself.

He spat the master key he had swiped from the first assaulter - _S,_ that had been his codename - out of his mouth. Being the hero of the City had not come by without years of espionage training. The key-shaped hole in his cheek hurt, but he would survive to live another day. 

At least, he hoped it had been more pretense than reality. His thoughts went back to what he had suffered at the Interrogators’ hands as he worked on his ankle chains. He didn’t know how much of the residual pain was physical, and how much was psychological. The throbbing of his ribs felt especially tender. 

But no. He would not think on it now. The important task at hand was to make his escape - and he would need his strength, in both mind and body, to do so successfully. No one knew where he was being held, and he had no means of communication to the City as of now… 

The ankle chains released with a click. 

Letting out a breath he had not known he was holding, Clarke winced as he stood. He tested the weight of the chains around his wrists. Light enough to be wieldable, but heavy enough to deal damage if necessary. These would stay on in the absence of a better weapon. 

Every part of his mind and body that he could think of hurt. But he would not falter now. He would escape. He would negotiate his way to freedom. 

First, perhaps he should strike a bargain and release the prisoners he remembered were being housed in the adjoining cells… Then he could escape to the control room in the confusion…

As tactical thoughts reasserted themselves in the forefront of Clarke’s mind, the hero of the City twisted the key into the cell door. The chains slithered on the floor behind him as the door clicked open.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
